


the punches i can take (the scars they will stay)

by fuscience



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Vigilante AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3823195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuscience/pseuds/fuscience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s something to be said for failure, Lexa thinks. The taste of it has always been steady and bitter on her tongue no matter the lesson learned. </p><p>There are two people on this rooftop and only one of them is willing to do what is necessary and Lexa has long gotten used to being the one making the hard decisions. It does not matter that Clarke’s muffled cries or hidden face distort in disgust because there is a girl out there who needs her and Lexa has failed enough girls to know that this one will not be added to the ever present nightmares. This one she will not fail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the punches i can take (the scars they will stay)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by daredevil but definitely doesn't follow it completely. this'll be split into three arcs i hope and i'm trying to make the chapters a good length so let me know if you want them longer or shorter because i can probably do either.
> 
> there will be flashbacks and the switch from present to past will be noted by a date in italics - although it'll be pretty obvious anyway.
> 
> this is daredevil inspired plotwise
> 
> come find me on Tumblr @ http://fuscience.tumblr.com
> 
> and drop me a message if there's anything bothering you!

 

_“I was taught to desire nothing, to swallow other people's misery, and to eat my own bitterness.”_

\- joy luck club

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lexa is seven the first time she sees a man die, bleeding out in a back alley from a stabbing wound that has red spilling out from his carotid artery. It reminds her of the paints she received for her fifth birthday - the ones she still keeps under her bed, hidden and dry. She is eight the first time her mother crawls into a back room with a man she does not know, and nine when she finds that same woman cold to the touch, covered in the holes where Lexa is sure the winter has leaked into her body. Anya finds her when she is eleven and desperate and angry.

 

She takes her deeper into Hell’s Kitchen not long after that, further into the madness instead of farther away. She takes Lexa there and she trains her and there are certainly days Lexa resents her for it, but today is not that day.

* * *

_Present Day_

 

Her back aches today.

No. It’s on _fucking_ fire. 

She must be lying in a pool of her own blood by now and parts of her hurt so intensely Lexa would rather never move again then make the effort it will take to survive this. The cold of the concrete feels like it’s seeping every bit of warmth from her limbs, leaving only the heat from her belly resisting against the hard ground. This cold is haunting and familiar, but unwanted. Her fingers are numb and the black paint she used to obscure her identity is leaking into her eyes, mixing with the blood from a nasty gash on her forehead.

“ _Get knocked down._ ” The words echo through her head, pounded into her veins, running deep beneath her skin and she groans with every breath. Her arms come up and Lexa is pushing herself to her elbows, temples throbbing with the effort.

“Get back up.” She whispers through clenched teeth.

_Oh god_.

Something snaps as Lexa finally stands and her leg nearly buckles underneath her. Not broken, but definitely strained or sprained (she can only hope it’s not fractured because that’s going to be a bitch to heal while doing what she needs to do). One hand comes out to brace against the brick wall and the other wraps tenderly around her sides, trying to hold her broken ribs in place. The effort it takes to simply move is inscrutable and, _god_ , Anya had beaten her many, many times, but it had never hurt this much. Maybe it was the taste of failure,  the recognizable bitterness on her tongue that makes this walk unbearable - the shame of it all.

There is a girl somewhere in this city, kidnapped, alone, and probably frightened, and Lexa is supposed to find her and save her, but the address she so confidently strode into was a trap and now she can barely stand. Now, she can hardly do anything.

The light from the streetway peeks around the building corners and it’s a good thing Lexa only needs a vague direction to head in because her vision is blurring and sunspots appear with every step. She can’t make it. There is no way in hell she’s going to be able to walk from here all the way back to her apartment undetected - not with these wounds, not right now. Her back hits the wall as she slumps over, resting for just a moment, and her head dips, chin coming to touch her chest.

Unfortunately, Lexa has another option left besides dying - a part of her considers just lying in the alley and doing just that rather than crawling into that cesspit of trash. She means that literally. The steel trembles underneath her fingers as she silently climbs into the dumpster. Laying down on top of the garbage, hips squishing what she hopes is only a banana, is nearly a religious experience of disgusting relief, and Lexa stares up through the grates of the fire escape stairs and closes her eyes, stars dying beneath her eyelids. She hopes when she wakes it will be to a body ready to fight once again.

 

* * *

 

There is a brief moment of consciousness, out of the darkness, where she can feel arms tugging on her gently. Lexa does not resist and then there is something lighter clearing the space in front of her eyes and she only catches a glimpse of what hovers over her, but it looks a little like salvation with blonde hair.

The words sound like hospital and ambulance, but all Lexa can make out is more death and she yanks the person above her, dragging them down by the collar, to say what little she can manage, “Hospital… _dangerous_.” before pressing Wallace’s signet ring into their cheek, hoping they understand before promptly passing out once gain. She dreads waking up and thinks she may need more than hopes and prayers to fight her way out of a hospital if that is where she is taken.

* * *

_2003_

 

When Lexa is on the cusp of turning thirteen or, at least, what she considers to be an approximation of her age, Anya stands over her and breaks her ribs, steel-toed boots cracking the bones beneath them, Costia’s screams ringing out in the abandoned building.

Her mentor has this look in her eyes that Lexa has only recently learned to associate with pain and a hard lesson.

“Get up.” Lexa’s trying, honestly. She’s not sure what part of Anya’s brain thinks she wants to be on the ground, exposed for another round of this, but her lip is busted and her ribs must be cracked because her chest hurts and breathing feels like a thousand tiny needles - wait, no, a thousand _large swords_ \- piercing her lungs. “Get up, Lexa.”

“Fuck you.” It’s all the defiance she can manage and all it earns her is a stomp to the right femur that leaves her gasping in pain and Costia rushing forward. The other girl jumps onto Anya’s back, only to be swiftly thrown against the wall slumping down against the cold bricks. She tries to get back up to fling herself angrily again and that has Lexa jumping to her feet, body screaming in protest as she puts herself between Costia and Anya, dragging the taller girl backwards by the waist away from her mentor.

“Costia.” She whispers weakly, collapsing into her friend’s arms, “ _No_.”

Costia wraps her skinny arms around Lexa and lowers her to the ground, enraged tears rolling slowly down her cheeks.

“Why?” Costia asks of Anya and Lexa is still conscious enough, barely, to hear the answer. The older woman looks down on them imperiously before bending down and lifting Lexa into her arms. "Everyday, day in, day out I watch you beat her and tell her to get back up. _Why_?"

“She needs to know her limits.”

Costia follows behind, the echoes of her fury and confusion still palpable in the air. “I think she knows when not to stand up anymore.”

Anya stops, causing Costia to bump into her, jostling Lexa in her arms who groans piteously and then, very quietly, Anya speaks.

“You do not understand. She needs to know when not to stand up and then stand up anyway. That is what these people need -  someone who knows their limits and then surpasses them.”

Lexa does not hear anymore from either of them after that, only feeling the weak give of the fabric  as Anya lays her down and the stickiness of her own blood on her clothes.

When Lexa is nearly thirteen, Costia softly cradles her head on a cot bought for ten dollars from the army-navy store and presses their lips together for the first time. Their noses bump and Lexa is only half-awake for it, but Costia tastes like the little lemon candies Lexa swipes for her from the corner store on Martin St. and Lexa is filled with something that twists her belly and speeds up her heart rate.

* * *

_Present Day_

 

“I don’t know what to do with her.” 

“Are you kidding? She’s not a stray dog - take her to a freaking hospital! You’re a fucking doctor aren’t you? Look at this shit! She could die.”

Lexa hears yelling, in volumes that she thinks may be an attempt at quiet, but are failing horribly, and tries to roll on her side and go back to sleep, but her body immediately reminds her of all the injuries recently sustained. The moan pushes it’s way through her gritted teeth and the harsh whispers cease suddenly.

“Oh, fuck. She’s waking up.”

“This is your mess. You fucking fix it.”

Fingers brush against her arm and Lexa sits up on reflex, grabbing the wrist of the hand that touched her and bending it backwards.

“Ow, ow, ow, jesus - _hey_!” Lexa opens her one usable eye to a young woman kneeling at her side, grimacing in pain, and Lexa let’s go. The girl rubs her wrist, giving her a suspicious glare that Lexa returns as best she can - which she doesn’t think is that good because one eye is definitely not opening and she can’t feel the left side of her face. Once she lets go of the girl’s hand though, there is nothing truly holding her up and her body decides it’s done for the day and drops back onto the couch.  She tries to take scope of the room - an apartment, small but tidy and the blonde sits by her side still holding her wrist and there’s a brunette in the doorway giving off heavy vibes of wanting to kill her or at least dump her injured ass on someone else’s couch. This is probably not an ideal situation to wake to, but two girls are better than a room full of armed guards.

“Well. What now, Clarke, oh-genius-of-geniuses?”

The blonde - _Clarke_ \- turns and glares at the speaker before looking back at Lexa who is in that nice state of being in too much pain to move and not enough to fall back into unconsciousness.

“Hey. My name is Clarke." She speaks softly, like introducing herself is very normal. To most people, Lexa supposes, it probably is. " I am a doctor and you are in my apartment. You are very injured.”

Lexa wants to laugh at her luck, but that is not going to happen. “Tell me something I don’t know, Clarke.” She croaks out, unable to speak very well, although the name rolls of her tongue easily - a little click of her tongue on the end.

“Well, unfortunately there’s not much I can tell you without a proper visit to the E.R.”

Clarke can very clearly see how the girl on her couch stiffens and sharpens, like the edges of her come into focus.

“No hospitals.”

“I know.” Clarke says, face going carefully neutral, and then pulls out the very familiar ring. The one Lexa has carried with her for nearly eight years. “You pushed this into my hand before passing out. I know what the Wallace’s do. Now, what did _you_ do to get all these injuries?”

“No.”

“Hey!” The girl with the deadly eyes finally speaks up, lifting herself up away from the wall and stomping over. “She saved your life last night - I think she deserves a few answers for pulling your ass out of a dumpster at four in the morning.”

“Raven.” Clarke warns.

“No. _I’m_ freaking out. You _were_ freaking out. A part of me is still saying we need to call the cops, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining this! And now - _now,_ she’s being an asshole.”

The room goes silent and Lexa’s eyes narrow.

“You are prying where you don’t belong. You are rude.”

The girl sputters, “I’m rude. _I’m_  fucking rude.” She throws up her hands in disbelief, “That was it for me. That was my attempt at rationality. You’re fucking turn, Clarke. I ain’t talking to Bleeding Betsy here anymore.”

“What happened to me is not just about keeping my secrets. For the same reason I cannot go to a hospital, I cannot reveal the source of my injuries.” Lexa’s voice is soft and strained with the effort. “I do not wish to inconvenience you anymore. I will be on my way.” She pushes up, chanting in her head through the pain ‘ _get back up, get back up, get back up_ ’ until she succeeds and it hurts. It hurts like the first time Anya pushed her down a fire escape, trying to teach her how to go down stairs without actually using stairs, or the first time Anya pushed back the hair on her sweaty, fevered forehead and kissed her goodnight after she failed to get back up. It hurts like death without death.

“Stop.” A hand comes up to her chest, which for the first time Lexa notices is still covered in her own blood-stained shirt. “If you’re in the Wallace’s crosshairs then that’s all I need to know to help you. Lay down, go back to sleep. I’ll patch you up.”

Lexa looks down at Clarke’s hand, the fingers resting on her breastbone softly. She hasn’t felt something quite like this blooming beneath her chest in a long time and wonders if Clarke can feel how her heart speeds up at the touch - she hopes not. Her head nods a ‘yes’ before she can really process it and, once again, Lexa finds the strength draining from her body and the pillows on the couch, the darkness beneath her eyes, and Clarke next to her is all very comforting.

“What’s your name?” She hears among the black.

“Lexa.” She whispers  and then nothing else.

* * *

 

“Ok. She passed out again.” Raven pauses, lip jutting out in annoyance. “On our couch. We’re going to need a new couch, aren’t we? These blood stains are permanent. Shit. Forget getting rid of a body, how do we get rid of a blood stained couch.”

"Miscalculation on our menstrual cycles." Clarke says, grinning before sitting back on her butt, hands coming out behind her for balance and she laughs. “I’ll buy us a new couch.” She swallows tightly as her eyes trace the numerous bandages she’d wrapped around the girl. There were things under those bandages that had made her want to vomit and Clarke had been a resident at Ark General for nearly a year now meaning there was very little that made her cringe.

She had never seen _that many_ scars on someone.

Two years ago, Clarke’s father died and her world fell apart for a good ten months after. Every step she took, every attempt to investigate why her father had been in Hell’s Kitchen that night, why he had been shot and left for dead in an alley that Clarke knew had never been part of her father’s commute, was dogged by lawyers and bad men following her down streets whispering of other bad men who would destroy her. Six months ago, she had found a small usb drive stashed in the tiles of her mother’s home - hidden between rafters and dust, and while Clarke’s attempts to decrypt the files had been unsuccessful to date there was no doubting the sigil that had branded it’s digital page. There had been evil men looking to annihilate her and they were still out there. In fact, Clarke remembered thinking, she technically worked for them.

Clarke fingers the ring in her hand, tracing, without looking, the familiar lines that connect it back to the Wallace family, to the men who owned half this town, including her mother’s hospital. The girl on her couch looks like death warmed over, but the reports had come in off Raven’s scanner hours ago of two dead bodies only  a few city blocks away and, well, Clarke could connect the dots and assume that this Lexa was better off than her opponents. She was breathing, at least.

Raven walks back in and folds her arm over her chest imposingly.

“Well?” Clarke licks her lips and keeps her eyes trained on the rise and fall of Lexa’s chest. “What are you going to do?”

Legally, Clarke is obliged to call 9-11. If Lexa dies in here, as Raven said earlier, the only explanation they will be allowed to give for the dead body in their apartment will be given with handcuffs, through the bars of a cell, but something in her instincts says that the legal move may not be the right move - a principle Clarke has become all too familiar with lately.

“She stays. No hospital.”

There’s no argument this time and Raven only nods.

“Okay. Realistically, what are the chances she dies?”

With that question, Clarke stands up off her protesting knees and rubs the back of her neck, “Honestly? There’s definitely a chance. Not a big one, but what I can tell externally is limited and she’s got…. Raven, the amount of blunt force trauma to her body is extensive and I can only tell so much of what’s happening internally without x-rays and CAT scans.”

“So, you’re saying we should be worried?”

Clarke sighs and watches Raven jaw work back and forth tensely. “I’m saying hope for the best and expect the worse.”

“I’ll have Bellamy on stand by.”

“That would probably be a good idea.”

* * *

 

Lexa wakes up about an hour later, feeling, if not better, at least mobile and Clarke has her stand and go sit on their dining table to examine her injuries completely.

“So, Lexa - is there anything you can tell me about yourself?”

Lexa shrugs and then quiets, thinking very carefully. “I am 25 years of age.” She says softly.

Clarke bites back a smile, and throws her hands up in the air in slight frustration. Lexa lifts an eyebrow, the right one because that is currently the only one that will move, drawing Clarke back to her work of pulling a stitch through Lexa’s skin across a gash on the inside of her thigh. She’d missed it earlier among the blood and was thankful that is was fairly shallow and had not even come close to the femoral artery which would have been a death sentence for the girl. “How revealing. What about a job? A last name?” Lexa looks uncomfortable and Clarke’s good humor falls away. “Sorry - last name’s are one of those things you probably shouldn’t hand out.”

“No. I just... don’t have one.”

“Everyone has one.” Clarke’s tongue is peeking out from between her lips as she looks under the bandage on Lexa’s side - the one covering a deep gash. “

“I don’t.” Sensing the defensive tone, Clarke lays a hand on Lexa’ knees trying to communicate that she didn’t mean to pry or make fun of and the message seems to go through as Lexa relaxes under her palm. “I was given one so I could go to school, but I do not know what my mother or father’s name was - the one they would have passed to me.” She quiets and then tentatively says, “I have nothing from them. Not even a name.”

Clarke lifts an eyebrow, coming up from examining Lexa’s swollen ankle and the movement jars Lexa - Clarke’s head going from between her legs to staring her straight in the face, curiosity spreading forth between them. It's not one-sided either and that may be what disturbs Lexa more than anything

“Who _are_ you?”

“No one important.” Lexa answers honestly.

Clarke shakes her head and her lips curve in a way that tells Lexa Clarke doesn’t believe her. She tips her head to the side in wonder at the woman with a needle between her fingers and a smile sharper than a knife.

“Somehow, I doubt that very much.”

It makes Lexa squirm.

“How does it feel?”

Lexa shrugs, “Hurts.” Clarke rolls her eyes - resistant patients are the worst because it is impossible to truly make conclusions from insufficient information and how can she be expected to treat someone competently without an accurate medical background.

She sighs, “Next time go to the hospital? If you can?”

Lexa pauses and bows her head apologetically. “I cannot bring my troubles there. I have no desire to put anyone else in danger.”

Clarke places her hands on either side of Lexa’s body, trapping her in the space on top of her dining room table as she smiles down at her. Her voice is hard and very, very convincing.  “Then just come to me. Can you do that?”

Lexa nods without question, mentally crossing her fingers like a child, and Clarke returns to her work, hands palpating the edges of her body.

* * *

 

Cage Wallace is a man of few faces, while his father holds many. This is a lesson that has been beaten into his head since he was six years old and sat on his father’s lap in the high rise of an office building, being told that it will all be his someday while someone simultaneously slaps his hands away whispering ‘do not touch’.

“You’ve been leaving  a trail of bodies lately, Cage. One that won’t escape everyone’s notice for long.” His father remains steady, staring straight at the partition separating them from the driver.

“Don’t worry, father.” He sneers, “I have a plan. I’ll protect our company and all our associates.”

Dante grabs Cage by his ear and pulls him close, wrenching the cartilage and flesh in a twisting movement that leaves his son cringing and crying out in the back cabin of their town car. “You can’t protect anything if the world notices the blood on your hands and the violence between your teeth. Keep yourself in check before I have to clean up your mess again.”

With a vicious snarl Cage rips free of his father’s grip, rubbing his ear, lips curled in anger, but he holds his tongue. His father can teach his lessons - it will be all the old man has left once Cage is done.

* * *

 

Clarke’s hands reminded Lexa of Costia’s and sometimes they hurt, and sometimes they help, but they heal and Lexa keeps telling herself that is all that matters. She can breathe through the pain of the familiarity of the touch if it means she can spend another day on the streets fighting the war in her head.

The pads of Clarke’s fingers travel down her shoulder and come to rest in the palm of her hand. Lexa looks up and catches Clarke’s eyes, a little guarded and very curious, and she swallows down whatever feeling rises up in her due to Clarke’s blue eyes.

A knock at the door startles them both and they jump apart. Raven comes out from the hallway a door slamming behind her.

“Who’s that?”

Clarke stands to go answer, but Lexa’s hand shoots out and stops her.

“Don’t answer it.”

She looks down at Lexa with kind eyes, and Lexa suddenly feels very small, legs dangling off the edges of Clarke’s table as she places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be alright. I don’t know who you are or where you are and no one else will either.”

The door opens only a crack and Lexa zones in on the murmurs of the man at the door, detailing a disturbance, bodies, a dangerous criminal possibly in the area and her knuckles go white against the table. Raven watches how Lexa trembles in anger and she is reminded of her mother wrapping a beaded _ojo_ bracelet around her wrist every morning, rubbing the back of her hand with love in order to ward off the evil spirits. She remembers this and thinks there might be a demon coming forth from the girl they fished out of the dumpster.

The door closes and Lexa relaxes, taking a deep breath as Clarke returns to his side.

“See, all done.”

“He didn’t believe you.” Clarke looks taken aback for a moment before sliding her eyes back to the door. “He’ll be back with more people if I let him make it out.” She rises from the table with a clenched jaw, holding her side and begins to walk towards the door until she is stopped by a hand around her wrist.

For someone who knows nothing of what Lexa has done to get here, Clarke has been exceedingly patient with her, but that must end now.

“Remove your hand from my person or I will remove it from yours.” Raven lunges towards her, stopping only when she notices Clarke’s non-reaction.

“I’m going with you.” The phrase is familiar, yet not, and Lexa’s heart goes cold and her lips curl with anger.

“No. You will not.”

Clarke lifts a dubious eyebrow and crosses her arms and Lexa watches the way her chin rises, noting all the body language - ‘ _the fuck i’m not_ ’ it says.“I’ll scream.”

“You will do no such thing, Clarke. Such a move would endanger not just me, but everyone in this building.”

“Try me.” Lexa swallows hard, frustrated, with something telling her Clarke is not someone who’s limits she should push and she stalks forward, doing her best to loom over the shorter girl.

“You will listen to everything I say.” Clarke nods. “You stay silent.” Clarke rolls her eyes, a movement that is grating on Lexa’s tight nerves. “And if I say you need to leave at any point, you go.” She hesitates but eventually nods at this too - it is surprising how well they seem to meet each other in understanding. “Very well then. Follow me”

They exit Clarke’s apartment with Raven warning them that she if she hears either of them scream bloody murder she _will_ be calling someone whether they like it or not. " _Fuck if I care what either of you two say if you're dying_." and she sends them on their way.

 

 

The man is still making his way down the stairwell and Lexa peers over the edge to see him with a phone to his ear. Their are not very many ways to drop ten floors in seconds, or, at least, not many that won’t kill you, but luckily Anya taught her many different things - such as how to vault from railing to railing down a staircase.

She turns to Clarke. “I will see you in a moment.” and then jumps, throwing herself over the siding, landing on the sides of the stairwell, quietly falling from railing to railing until she simply jumps the last two stories and lands on the man who was looking for them, pocketing his cell phone once she determines he is unconscious. The whole thing is accomplished smoothly and with what appears to be minimal effort by Lexa and were it not for the fact that Clarke knows normal people don’t go jumping off stairs and dropping nearly ten floors she would think what Lexa had done was an everyday thing.

“Whoa.” Clarke breathes out. “What the fuck?” Lexa disappears from her sight, pulling the man behind her, and the next thing she sees are the elevator numbers lighting up and, oh my god, the girl in the dumpster, is dragging an unconscious man to the rooftop via an elevator and Clarke is definitely back to freaking out. She likes to pretend that she can meet Lexa step for step because that seemed to be the best way to handle the girl, but that was a complete and total lie.

The numbers stop on her floor - thirteen - and the doors slide open to reveal Lexa and her prisoner. She looks at Clarke and then motions for her to join them. “Are you coming?”

“What are you going to do?” Clarke asks, stepping into the metal box. Doubt floods her tone and Lexa doesn’t want to give Clarke a reason to regret saving her, but she is also not willing to lie or sugarcoat her methods to hide Clarke from the realities of their situation.

“What I must.” She admits, watching the doors close.

* * *

_ 2001 _

 

Lexa is born to a mother and father who she vaguely remembers. Her father dies and her mother loses her job, as most tragedies begin, and then there are worn down blankets and broken appliances, drugs and death. This is Lexa’s life before Costia, before Anya.

After the death of her mother, Lexa manages to stay in their tiny apartment for several months, ignoring the landlord’s loud knocks, and louder yells. She goes to school and ignores the looks of the other children as she always has and when she comes home to an empty fridge she makes a quick and desperate trip to the Korean restaurant two blocks from the city housing projects. It is run by an elderly couple, Soo Chin-Mae and Soo Gi, who immigrated here sixty years ago during the Korean war, some of the few refugees allowed in, and who had lost their son to the last years of the Vietnam war and their daughter to cancer. Their granddaughter attends Columbia University, she learns one afternoon, crouched and hidden behind their dumpster as they try and coax her out, and the two leave scraps out for Lexa, with her thinning cheeks and small, bird-like limbs that they say remind them of the only family they have left outside of themselves.

They are murdered in a robbery six months after her mother and Lexa does not cry, but she does leave.

She has no home anymore, no source of food and surviving has suddenly become a dire priority when compared to the droning of teachers in classrooms who read from books Lexa has finished years earlier. There is a small note in a truancy file, but no one makes a true effort to find her and Lexa is okay with that, prefer it - she thinks.

The streets are dangerous, but somewhere around the eighteenth month of being on her own Lexa learns how to be a citizen of Hell’s Kitchen. There is a man with his pants around his ankles and a girl no older than she, screaming and kicking, lashing out best she can as the man kicks back  and Lexa almost turns away because that is what it means to survive. You do not care for anyone else, you find your own food, carry on with your own life and stay as small as possible and  maybe, just maybe, the gangs that roam the streets will ignore you. But the girl’s eyes find hers and Lexa hesitates. The hesitation costs her and the unknown assailant turns and sees her as well, grinning salaciously.

“Well, well, another little bird joining us for dinner?” Lexa officially hates being compared to avian species and fervently hopes she grows out of her small stature (this will not happen, she knows, if her pre-adolescent life continues to consist of a single meal every other day). The man pulls up his pants and zips them, before turning to the girl on the ground who is sitting up devastatingly slow, eyes crossed and confused from one vicious kick to the head delivered while Lexa had been standing there. He stalks towards her and Lexa considers backing away and running. She is fast and small and her bones are hollow like a birds, ready to take flight away from the beast, but the she looks at the blood on the ground and the small girl clutching her head in pain and, instead, darts forward. With a sound that borders inhuman, Lexa jumps and knocks down the man, her full weight and the momentum in her lunge just enough to knock the man down. He smells of alcohol and unwashed bodies and his clumsy hands come up to grab on her hair, tugging and pulling and Lexa clutches to him with every angry fiber of her being. How dare he try and kill her. How dare he try and survive. He is trash and Lexa is only slightly above him, but surely her life is worth more than a man who preys on little girls in the cover of darkness? Surely it is, she hopes.

The struggle continues viciously and while the man backhands her Lexa manages to press a grinding knees into his crotch, digging viciously into the tender, erect flesh lying just beneath the harsh material of his jeans. It is not enough to stop him and he elbows her in the face, a cracking sound breaking across her face and Lexa wonders if it is her nose or her cheek or her soul. She sits back dazed on his hips, unable to move through the pain and the man, face contorted in rage, begins to sit up and reach for her.

Lexa regrets this. She ignored the rules of Hell’s Kitchen and now she will forfeit her life. It is only fair, Lexa thinks, for being so stupid as to look into watery, pleading eyes and believe she might wipe the fear from them.

A small foot comes gliding down in the space between Lexa and the man, swinging and clipping him in the jaw so his head falls back and bounces again the ground with a dull thud. The girl with the eyes stands above them now, dark skin glowing with sweat and terror and absolute fury, and Lexa thinks it is the most beautiful thing she has seen in months, maybe years.

The man groans in pain, letting go of Lexa for only a moment, but a moment is all Lexa requires to survive. She springs forward and latches onto the man’s neck with her teeth, digging and biting through the screams and the gurgling, tearing muscle and nerves and tasting the iron of his blood as it seeps out between her gums. She locks her jaw and holds it until the man’s hands stop beating against her back and head, until they flail quietly and then drop to the ground in silence. She pulls away when a gentle hand touches her shoulder.

It is not the girl who stares back at her as she leaps from the dead body.

A woman with high cheekbones and narrowed eyes gazes at her and Lexa knows she must be a sight to see. Her own eyes are wide and feral and the man’s blood is a mess around her mouth, even as Lexa brings up her forearm to smear it away. Lexa stands on shaky legs and extends an arm out in front of the girl she saved, who still stands behind her, eyes shining with victory and defiance.

The woman’s eyes flick across her body, thin and drowning in clothes far too big, elbows knobbed and wrists paper thin, but Lexa won. Lexa won. She survived and she will no longer bow to those who believe her worthless.

A step forward and Lexa takes a step back, the dance continuing until her arm bumps against her charge’s chest and then, the woman laughs, harsh and unbefitting such slim features.

“Calm down, little sparrow.” God, Lexa hates the comparison. She pulls out something from the plastic store bag that Lexa only now ssees draping from her forearm. “Here.”

The item bounces against Lexa’s forehead into her waiting arms. It’s a sandwich.

“My name is Anya.” Anya circles the dead man’s body, poking it with the toes of her steel-edged boots. “You certainly are a vicious little thing aren’t you.”

Lexa remains silent, carefully unwrapping the sandwich, before handing half to the girl behind her, and Anya turns her attention back to the small girl in front of her.

“You like to fight?”

She shakes her head in the negative, silent as she chews through the bread and turkey and cheese (it tastes like iron and Lexa hopes she doesn't forever associate turkey sandwiches with death). Anya’s smile is a thin, pink line that Lexa will learn to both crave and fear. A rain drop hits Lexa nose and then the sky opens up, pouring down and wetting their clothes as it falls between the roofs of the crumbling buildings. It washes away the grime that coats Lexa’s body and she resists the urge to have another go at washing her mouth. A bloodied mouth is a terrifying thing, animalistic, and Lexa thinks she will need every intimidation tactic at hand if she is to move correctly around the woman in front of her.

“Good.” Anya gets closer and then kneels on one knee so that Lexa is above her. “Then you will come with me and I will teach you how to fight with weapons other than your canines, little beast.” Lexa likes that name better, chin tilting up at it. “I can teach you, if you are willing to learn, how to use that anger.” She nods at the other little girl. “How to protect.”

“My name is Costia.” The other girl interjects angrily, tired of being ignored, Costia speaks surely and her words are tinted with an accent Lexa could not place, even though her ears were educated with the sounds of Hell’s Kitchen immigrant populace for many years. “and I do not need your protection.” She quickly turns to Lexa, holding a placating hand out. “Although, I am grateful for your assistance.” Lexa recognizes the pride, reflected back among the bloodied lip and bruised chin, echoed in the malnourished limbs and cast-off clothes so, she takes the hand and curls her fingers around the warmth that is Costia’s dark skin.

Anya is staring at them with raised eyebrows, still waiting for a response. Lexa has no home, no food, and no family. Anya is a stranger and Lexa has heard the stories of little girls who disappear with strangers, but her gut is calling to her once again and she stupidly answers itl. It is not the worst decision she has ever made, but, even far into the future, Lexa is certain it is not her best.

She looks at Costia who shivers next to her in the rain, steadfast in her pride yet trembling and still holding her hand and no child should live life with so much fear. 

“I go.” Anya’s eyes brighten for a moment. “She goes.” Lexa finishes, jerking a thumb in Costia’s direction.

“She will be in danger. I am not offering you safety, merely training.” She won’t completely discourage Lexa from the idea - caring for the people of Hell’s Kitchen will be part of the girl’s education, but this will likely end in tragedy as most stories do and Anya will not pretend any differently.

Costia steps up before Lexa can respond, fingers clenching around Lexa’s and her eyes shine with something that makes Lexa almost want to stand back and admire, if only to capture the image in her mind’s eyes. “I am in danger no matter where I go - we all are.  I would rather be in danger with her than without her.” The girl is taller than Lexa by several inches and looks between her and Anya, daring either of them to defy her statement. Lexa merely tilts her head to the side and nods - it is what she asked for after all, there is no reason to defy Costia’s logic. With her, though. Costia said with her and it has been a very long time since someone has stood in Lexa’s corner so quickly, back stiff and body warm at her side. It is very, very nice.

 **  
** So, Anya takes them that day, deeper into Hell’s Kitchen, where the police do not venture and the corner stores are as few as the number of decent people, and trains Lexa. They train every day, mind and body as Anya keeps them on track in lessons of math and science and history before throwing Lexa to the ground. Lexa loves history and Costia loves math and neither of them enjoy the sound of Lexa’s body tumbling against the walls or the concrete floor. It takes time before Lexa understands Anya’s goals and until Anya deems her strong, Costia is there to makes sure she isn’t torn apart in the process.[  
](http://fuscience.tumblr.com)

 

* * *

_Present Day_

 

“You can’t just go around torturing everyone you don’t trust!”

Lexa pauses from where she’s lashing the man to a steel pole on the roof. “Yes. I can.” She deadpans.

The man groans and Lexa takes a fist full of his hair and smacks it back against the metal. Clarke winces and takes a deep breath. Blood is familiar to her. So is pain. But this is not either of those, isolated as she’s experienced them. This is what happens before people come to her, screeching in pain on gurneys out of ambulances, crying in waiting rooms, and Lexa stands there _causing_ it.

“You can’t give in to the fear, Clarke. It is weakness and will allow them to win.”

Clarke looks at her eyes wide and  horrified.

“Lexa this isn’t fear. This is a person.”

“Do you know what this man did?” Lexa looks down on her and it’s infuriating. Clarke doesn’t need to know that this is a bad man, but even bad men - even bad men deserve something, right? Do no harm. Treat everyone equally. Doctors save everyone.“There is a girl in this city somewhere who witnessed her brother beaten before her eyes, who sits waiting, maybe hoping today won’t be the day, today won’t be the day they kill me. Tomorrow, though?” Lexa takes the man’s head and bangs it back against the steel pole again so the man yelps in pain and her nostrils flare in barely hidden anger because that pain is _not enough_. “Tomorrow might be the day.” She turns away from Clarke and withdraws a knife that she vaguely recognizes from her kitchen. “Or maybe they’ll just take a thumb.” The blade drags across the back of his hand, before digging underneath a thumbnail. There’s another agonizing groan, bordering between torment and shock. “Or an eye?” It goes at the man’s temple then, blood rising from a gash that Lexa draws from forehead to chin. “I know how fond some people are of ears, though. See no evil. Hear no evil, right?”

With a quick flick, the lobe of the man’s ear is severed from the rest of it and falls to the floor with minimal blood, but a very loud scream. Clarke resists the urge to press her hands over her own ears - whether to protect them or block out the pained cries she doesn’t know..

There’s something to be said for failure, Lexa thinks, the taste of it has always been steady and  bitter on her tongue no matter the valuable lesson gained. There are two people in this room and only one of them is willing to do what is necessary and Lexa has long gotten used to being the one making the hard decisions. It does not matter that Clarke’s muffled cries or hidden face distorts in disgust because there is a little girl out there who needs her and Lexa has failed enough little girls to know that this one will not be added to the ever present nightmares. This one she will not fail.

* * *

_2007_

 

Anya was a lawyer before she ended up in Hell’s Kitchen, trained in multiple forms of fighting that Lexa had never felt the urge to inquire about. There’s not much Lexa knows about Anya before she decided to pick up two street rats and that’s okay with her. Secrets are a part of their life and prying, Lexa believes, is rude especially when revealing secrets could mean killing someone. As long as she can move, she can fight and as long as she can fight, she can save and that becomes one of the only things that matter. That and Costia.

She is seventeen and sitting on the edge of a rooftop when Costia comes and sits next to her, mouth wide and bright as her arms encircle Lexa’s neck. Costia’s arms are the only ones that Lexa does not flinch at because they are the only thing that keeps her grounded.

“What are you doing up here? Thinking about flying away, little sparrow?”  The nickname had stuck for years, Costia latching onto it like a bear with fresh meat, and it never fails to make Lexa sigh in fond exasperation. It is not something she truly came to enjoy until Costia said it. She would never admit how apt it is, considering the number of times Anya or Costia had found her on rooftops, preferring them to the narrow streets Lexa had longed believe would be her grave.

“No flying today.” She looks down between her knees at the darkness below, radiating from the alleyway and sighs. “I’m afraid I might fall.”

The warmth of Costia’s lips touch her cheek and she turns, hand coming up to touch the spot. It does not matter that Lexa has kissed Costia for years, touched her and loved her for years - the blush that always rises with Costia’s lips is real and eternal.

“The great Lexa fearing something?”

Lexa lets her head fall to Costia’s shoulder. “There are many things I fear, Costia. You know this.”

She can feel the vibrations as Costia hums and they lull her to calm as a hand strokes her hair, freed from it’s braid. The silence overtakes them for a moment before Lexa sits up slowly and cups Costia’s face between both her hands.

“I fear losing _you_.” She says, feeling the need to be honest, and laying a kiss on Costia’s eyelids so they close. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Costia answers, tipping forward.

Their foreheads meet and then their lips and kissing while smiling is hard, but it is how they have always been. With all the things that are bad, they are always good. Them together is always good and happy.

Lexa is happy.

For the moment.

“Anya believes I am ready for bigger battles.” At this, Costia pulls her head away from where it was resting on Lexa’s shoulder.

“Anya believes many things.” She says, voice cold.

It is no secret that Anya and Costia have clashed over the years, such as families do, but they were simply immovable on the topic of Lexa. Costia wished to protect her, to keep her safe, while Anya placed everyone else above their safety. Lexa did not care what happened to her, she wanted to fight, to rescue the people she had seen torn to pieces for years by violence and circumstance, but no amount of conversation with Costia would change her stance. As Costia was Lexa’s first concern, so Lexa was hers and to Costia, this life of taking down gangbangers in alleyways and stopping midnight gas station robberies would lead to only one thing - death.

Lexa’s jaw clenches. “I am ready. Do you doubt me?”

Costia’s fingers find hers. “That is not what I meant and you know it. Don’t be stupid.”

“I am never stupid.”

Her lips find Costia’s once again, grinning and teasing, only withdrawing when Costia places her hands on Lexa’s cheeks and withdraws.

“Then don’t be reckless.” Costia responds softly. Her voice is sad, almost pleading, and Lexa leans in again, trying to kiss the sadness away because they are good, together they are happy. She kisses Costia’s lips and cheeks, her neck and eyes until Costia is left happily laughing and reaching for Lexa’s shirt, lifting it over head so she can palm at bare breasts.

“I will be safe.” Lexa whispers into the space of Costia’s collarbone, trailing her lips down the edge until she can climb into the other girl’s lap, grinding down onto her leg.

“You will come home.” Costia replies fiercely, twisting her hands into Lexa’s hair to draw her up and into a harsh, sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

* * *

 

The night is cold - it is the one thing Lexa remembers explicitly and clearly. That and red.

There are men everywhere and they all wear the familiar white and blue that mark them as Azgeda. Costia liked to joke that their colors matched ice of their hearts and the methamphetamines of their labs. This would make Lexa frown until Costia elbowed her  a few times and Anya gave a small amused smile. Then, and only then, would Lexa allow herself to smile as well.

“They have guns, Lexa. Are you sure? There is nothing wrong with retr - “

“I am ready.” Lexa stops Anya mid-sentence and tries to school her face into one of cool determination. So, maybe, it hadn’t been as much Anya’s decision as Lexa had made it out to be, but that hardly mattered because in the end she had received her mentor’s blessing to come out tonight.

“Circle around back then. Use the roofs little bird and come in where they least suspect it. I’ve got the distraction.”

While the ultimate goal is utter anhiliation, Anya will settle for taking out one of their major cooking labs, destroying a huge source of income and possibly breaking some faces in the process. Lexa nods and makes her way to the edge before skipping off of it and landing on the rusted tin and broken glass that cover their target. The glass is good, it allows her to see inside instead of crawling around blindly like the insects below.

They have guns, Anya had warned and Lexa had _thought_ she’d understood.

She hears the sharp ring of bullets and the shouts of men as they are drawn away and felled in the front and watches more and more men leave the inside of the factory. When there are half a dozen, Lexa makes her move, dropping silently through a broken window into the rafters and making her way down steel walkways to the lower level. The first man does not notice her and drops with a vicious crack to his neck when she twists his head. The second has his throat slit, but the space is wide and open and the shadows can only hide her for so long. She is forced to take down the third with a thrown knife that hits the man directly in the eye, deep enough that Lexa is assured there is brain damage.

Two of the last three move in on her and she moves in close, trying to restrict this fight to hand-to-hand combat and she manages to drop the fourth with a sweeping leg stepping on his head with a digging boot that leaves him still as she jumps and hooks her legs around the fifth man’s head, swinging and throwing him off balance when she releases and lands crouched on the ground. The fifth man, who Lexa notes is wearing the grimy clothes that indicate he is a Hell’s Kitchen native as well as a blue bandanna around his exposed upper arm, stands up unsteadily but there is pop behind Lexa and she feels the burn against her side before watching the horror rise on the man’s face in front of her. The bullet flies through her and past the other man without harming him, but it lodges into the lab equipment - high heat and pressure are necessary to cook meth - and watches him explode before her eyes. The fire comes at her and the only thing that Lexa believes saves her life is that she is already nearly flat on the ground, dropping the last foot to fall on her belly and cover her head. Her eyes clench close and she can feel the heat rush over her, burning and melting what lies around her.

When Lexa stands, there is a pain to her back that she has never felt before and she nearly passes out - but there has been worse, Anya has made sure she has felt worse. The fifth man is dead - the sixth she is not sure, but he is no where in sight and the lab is utterly wrecked. Lexa picks around, destroying what might be salvaged and creating a torch by soaking a cloth in some petrol and stuffing it in a discarded can. She lights the cloth on fire with the dredges of flames from the explosion and, making her way to the exit, throws it at the remnants, not bothering to watch the fire wreak it’s havoc behind her.

Anya stands waiting for her two blocks over at their prearranged meeting spot and when she catches sight of the young girl walking unsteadily towards her and the smoke rising in billows she knows something has gone wrong.

Lexa stumbles forward and uses a hand against the wall to balance herself. “Ready?”

“Lexa.” Anya stares. “Your back.”

There’s a pounding behind her eyes that won’t go away and the cold is beginning to seep into her bones. It’s _so_ goddamn cold. All Lexa wants to do is go home and curl up next to Costia in their pathetic little bed where they are safe and warm and the skeleton's of Hell's Kitchen do not come out to play in their dreams.

“My back is fine. It hurt a little, but I don’t feel anything anymore.”

“You stupid girl!” Anya lunges towards her, startling Lexa and she would protests because she despises when anyone accuses her of stupidity, but she is falling forward and the cool hand Anya catches her with grazes against the skin of her back and she is hit with sudden agony, a scream bubbling up from between her teeth.

Darkness blots her vision and she brings a hand up. It’s red. There’s red and it’s cold and then, it is dark and Lexa feels nothing, sees nothing anymore.

They are blocks from base and Costa and help and the fire will be drawing more of the Azgeda in to this location so, Anya has a choice. She can leave Lexa - leave the girl she’s spent six years training and return empty-handed to the other one who will probably slit her throat once she knows, or, attempt to carry a teenaged girl through enemy territory, unarmed and exhausted.

There’s really no choice to make.

Lexa wakes momentarily as Anya drags them through the doors of their home, Lexa's arm slung over her shoulder sloppily and one of Anya's hand gripping her tightly by the waist. She is in pain, but alive and her bones ache with the earlier slaughter, but then Costia’s arms are around her strong and warm, holding her up, and she falls into them. For now, Lexa is happy and that is more than she could ever have hoped for.

* * *

 

When Lexa’s burns are finally washed, covered with antibiotic cream and bandaged, Costia and Anya can breathe for a moment. The damage appeared to be mostly second and first degree burns with blisters popping up across the skin, red and damaged, but Lexa’s shirt had melted into her back and Costia had spent a good half hour digging it out as Anya held the girl she loved down, writhing in pain underneath her hands. It was enough to make her cry.

“I should have never given in to her pleas.” Anya whispers, head bowed in shame, sitting next to Costia on the ground.

“Give in?” She asks.

“Yes, that was my mistake - listening to her beg to be allowed to come.”

Costia pales and her lips thin in anger. “So, this was her idea, not yours?” She gets up and goes to kneel over at Lexa’s side hoping the girl can hear her. “ _Stupid_. Stupid, stupid, stupid! What did I tell you?” Her hand comes up to cup Lexa’s sweaty cheek. “You will live through this Lexa, if only so you are forced to explain your lies to me.”

Lexa moans wearily in her sleep as if she can already feel the eventual interrogation Costia will lay on her that will leave one of them groveling for weeks to restore their relationship. Hint: it won’t be Costia.

Anay sneezes for hours every day due to the amount of flowers Lexa brings home in the following weeks and Costia tastes like lemons when Lexa is finally allowed to kiss her again after groveling for ten days, and she is oh so relieved to find that their hands still fit together and that her back has healed enough that Costia can remove her shirt and touch her without wincing.

She fervently, earnestly promises no more deception, no more half-truths. 

Here is one truth though.

Lexa never gets the chance to lie to Costia again.

* * *

 

Lexa holds the man dangling over the edge of the roof, adrenaline pusling through her veins

“I am not so strong. Injured from the trap your compatriots set.” She says to the man who is gasping and wriggling his legs in desperation. “These weak arms may not hold for much longer. An address please?”

The man spits on her face, bloody and mucosal, and Lexa lets him fall down until she is merely holding him up by the lapels of his coat, the stitches between the fabric tearing at an agonizing pace.

“Don’t let go!” He screams. “The Montavant warehouse - the old agricultural one. They’re holding her there! For the love of everything, please don’t let me fall!” His pleading cries are ignored, outweighed by the victorious rush of blood that runs past her eardrums. Lexa lets him fall without a second thought and Clarke lets out a silent scream, fist shoved into her mouth as she bites down on the knuckles to keep the sound from escaping. Clarke runs to the railing and looks over, expecting to see a dead body. There’s none there. She thinks.

The man lies in the dumpster, obviously unconscious, but possibly not dead. Hopefully.

“He’ll live. Probably.” Lexa says without care, walking away from the scene towards the door that leads to the roof access stairs. “Do you have someplace to go?” She inquires.

“What?” Clarke looks startled, finally unfreezing her legs and following.

“You will need someplace to go. He knew you lied and he was on the phone. You and your friend shoudl lie low somewhere for a bit.”

“I uh - we can stay with a friend.” Clarke chews on her bottom lip before reaching for Lexa’s elbow. “Lexa, stop.”

“What?!” She snarls, turning when Clarke touches her and the sounds only seems to anger the girl who saved her, but Lexa is tired of her every move being questioned on moral grounds. She has long come to terms with the morality of her decisions, good or bad, and she sheds no tears over dumping that man like the trash he is when he would have murdered her and Clarke without blinking. “What have I done now that you wish to second guess?”

Clarke pauses, startled by the ferocity with which Lexa had turned on her before letting anger cloud her vision. “Five hours ago, I found you in a dumpster. You were thrown out with the _literal_ garbage and I am still trying to wrap my head around all of this. So, yes, I am going to question. I am going to second guess because I have no idea what to do in these situations and let's face it - neither do you!”

“I placed myself within the dumpster.” Lexa mumbles, her voice defensive, and Clarke almost stops her rant in it’s beginning stages to admire the grumpy pout of her lips - so damn  _human_ , but she doesn’t because she can’t. There are things that need to be said.

“Besides the point. I was minding my own business, throwing out my trash at four in the morning after a twelve-hour shift and there you were, bleeding and dying and I didn’t know what to do, but you needed help and I thought maybe I could help.” Clarke looks on the verge of either crying or punching her and they both feel like someone has stuck a hot poker in Lexa’s stomach, swirling around her insides. “And I can. If you’ll let me. I can keep your secrets. I can patch up your wounds. All you have to do is trust me a little - listen to me. You are absolutely infuriating, but I don’t want to see you die. So, look at me and don’t walk away.”

Clarke is asking for a lot and they both know it. It has been many, many years since Lexa has given her trust to anyone. In fact, she can count on one hand the number of people she has trusted in her life and none of their lives are anywhere close to safe. Lexa does not want to put that burden on Clarke, but then her arms twinges and her ribs aches and her head pounds and there are more forces at work then what Lexa wants or wishes. Maybe she can’t give her trust to Clarke, not yet, but something close to it may be necessary if she wishes to live.

“Where is it?” Lexa interrupts.

“Where’s what?”

“The place you will be staying.”

Clarke looks at her, understanding dawning. “Fortieth and Hartford. Unit B.”

She still looks worried, but Clarke's eyes are open and  yearning, and Lexa almost winces at the emotion there, barely managing to keep her mask in place. It is like setting herself into default mode. That is what Costia called it - everytime Lexa would steel herself for another of Anya’s lessons, settling her face carefully to reveal none of her fear or pain or exhilaration. “If I live through the night, I will take you up your offer, Clarke.”

Lexa limps away, the stitches on her back pulling painfully and blinks back tears, swallowing her fear. A girl needs her, needs someone, and she’s going to have to push every piece of her that feels anything to the back of her mind if she intends to save her, including the parts of her that simply want to go curl up on Clarke’s couch and let Clarke take care of her.

 


End file.
